Author's Note: This is my first Supernatural story that isn't a oneshot, and I have no clue how long it's going to be. It takes place after 10x18 (Inside Man) and deviates from the cannon in some ways that will become obvious. Please leave me some reviews and enjoy! :)

Our Solemn Hour

Chapter One: This One Takes the Cake

Sam didn't understand why he was doing this job and Dean wasn't. This job had "Dean" written all over it. Aside from the fact that it was a wedding reception and there were quite a few beautiful women, the wedding party also had pies instead of the traditional wedding cake. But then Sam saw the other side of it: he was stuck in a tuxedo on a hot summer's day in a building with no airflow and no air conditioning. Dean was probably laughing up a storm as he drove his car towards their next clue.

But Dean aside, Sam's other partner in the case was thrilled Dean wasn't there. Now, Charlie had a chance at the ladies.

"This is seriously amazing," Charlie gushed softly to Sam. The two of them stood at the edge of a long room filled with circular dining tables, a banquet table, and a ton of people standing around, socializing and dancing. "Everyone here is freaking gorgeous. Sam, you want a chance at anyone before I go?"

"Charlie," Sam reminded her. "We're on a case."

"Oh, yeah, I know," she agreed. "But part of the gig is socializing. We're not gonna find the culprit otherwise."

Sam silently conceded, smiling briefly before it vanished again. "Okay, but be careful."

As Charlie walked off in her hot pink dress, Sam looked around the room. He didn't personally know the couple, or anyone at the party at all. He and Charlie were acting as writers who want to cover nice weddings in their next issue of a magazine. The real reason they were there was because five people connected to the bride died within the past five days. And with each day, the person who died got closer in relation to the bride. First, it was an acquaintance. Then a third cousin. Then an aunt. Fourth a sister, and lastly, the bride's mother. All signs pointed to the bride being the next victim.

He wondered, though, what was the monster? A vengeful spirit? A witch? Dean was on his way to burn the bones of one possibly-pissed dead relative, but it was up to Sam and Charlie to search the wedding for hex bags and keep the bride safe.

Sam casually peeked behind one of the drapes and saw nothing. Nobody at the wedding was acting suspicious, so he wondered if a hex bag was already in place or if a spirit was possessing anybody at all. It was frustrating not to have a monster identified at this stage of the game, but that's partly why they called Charlie in.

The heat of the day certainly wasn't helping anything. Sam wiped at his brow and pulled his hand away damp. It was so hot that his stomach was writhing inside him with discomfort. He was tempted to take off his jacket all together, and to loosen the bowtie that was suddenly suffocating him.

Wait…he thought. The sickness that was suddenly hitting him was coming on too fast to be natural.He's felt heatstroke before, and the symptoms came on more slowly than this. It all was hitting him at once, like a bulldozer. Something was wrong. Seriously, wrong. He leaned his side against the wall, wincing at the urge to fall down in a faint. "Charlie," he called, though his voice just came out in a whisper. Nobody was close enough to hear him or see his distress.

"Charlie…" A little more loudly, but still not nearly good enough.

I must be the target, he realized. There's gotta be a hex bag in here somewhere that's on me… His first instinct was to get as far away from it as possible. He turned around for the exit, which was fortunately just a few feet behind him. He stumbled at it and opened the door, stepping out into the blinding light and into the parking lot. The rental car that he and Charlie drove there was sitting to his left.

He climbed in—no, fell in—to the driver's seat. He had the key and inserted it, mentally apologizing to Charlie as his lead foot fell onto the gas pedal. He swerved in reverse and then wrestled with the lever to put it into drive.

The only way to survive was to get as far away from that hex bag as possible. He swerved to avoid a bystander in the parking lot and headed into traffic, where he was only able to speed up to thirty before he was stuck behind another person. Ah, the horrors of the city…

He only made it three blocks away before his vision began to blacken. "D-damn it…" he swore, pulling over to the side of the road at a local business. Its address was posted right on the front. "C-Cas," he prayed in desperation. He knew that Cas avoided teleporting anywhere with his grace diminishing, but Cas was the only person who could save him now. He sent the address to him in his mind right before he lost consciousness.

*…*…*…*…*…*

"I'm telling you, Dean, Sam is gone," Charlie was saying into her end of the receiver. "I walked away for twenty minutes to check in with some bridesmaids and he's nowhere in sight."

Dean pulled over the impala, eyebrows furrowed deeply in anger. C'mon, Sam, he thought in aggravation. Sam knew better than to disappear on a case, especially when he was supposed to be protecting Charlie. This wasn't her first hunt, but she was really inexperienced compared to the Winchesters.

"And you tried his cell?"

"Like five times. And no, he's not in the bathroom."

"Alright, and what about the bride? Anything fishy with her yet? Any of the guests?"

"No, nothing," she said. "Dean…I wonder if what we're hunting knows we're after it."

Dean was already thinking of it, but he didn't want to freak Charlie out. He should have known that she'd be smart enough to figure it out. "Alright, you start asking the guests-"

"Wait, Dean?"

Just judging her tone, Dean could tell that whatever observation she had wasn't going to be a good one. "What?"

"Our rental car's gone. Sam must have taken it and driven off."

Then maybe he is okay. He was in deep trouble for leaving Charlie, but he must have been okay to drive off. Before Dean could speak any further, he heard his phone beeping. "Hang on, I got another call, I'll get back to you."

He looked down at the screen and with both anger and relief, he saw that it was Sam's name on the screen. He lifted it to his ear and barked out his frustrations. "Dammit Sam, what were you thinking, leaving Charlie alone at the reception? Where the Hell are you?"

"I'm not Sam," said the gravelly voice on the other end of the line. Dean's heart plummeted in his chest. "Sam's in trouble. Come back to the bunker now, Dean."

When Castiel hung up the phone, all of Dean's fears resurfaced. He began driving again and sped towards their home and his family.

*…*…*…*…*

When Sam came to, he was in his bedroom in the bunker with ice packs, chilled beers, and frozen vegetables on top of him. He slowly sat up, brushing off everything in a dazed confusion. Firstly, he had no clue how he got home, or why he was covered in a random assortment of frozen goods. When he looked to the foot of his bed, he was more surprised to see a friend sitting on the end. "Cas?"

Cas lifted his head to look at the brunet, his expression showing weariness. "Sam."

One look at Castiel's face and Sam knew. "Ugh, Cas, did I make you…" Did I make you use up some of your remaining grace on me? "Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," the tired angel said. "What happened, Sam?"

"I'm…not sure…" Everything hit him so suddenly that he wasn't sure how to explain it. And what caused it was still a mystery. He did have a question of his own, though. "But…why am I covered in frozen vegetables?"

"You were extremely warm," Castiel said. "Dean said to cool you down with ice, but there wasn't enough, so I utilized other frozen goods. Does it feel like it worked?"

"No clue," Sam shrugged. He sat up, propping the pillows behind him as he pushed everything but one ice pack to the side. The spare was lifted to his forehead, which was still pounding. "But being conscious is good, so…"

Before the conversation could continue further, both Sam and Cas heard footsteps pounding down the hallway. Sam instinctively reached under his pillow, only managing to get his fingertips on the gun before the footsteps had a face.

There was Dean in the doorway, Charlie appearing behind him. As soon as Sam saw Dean's face, he lowered the icepack from his head and tried his best to look okay.

"Sam?" Dean said in that quiet, worried voice he used too often.

"Yeah," Sam automatically said. "I'm good."

"Really," Charlie said skeptically in Dean's stead. "Because you look like crap…"

Sam automatically ran a hand over his hair, realizing that as always, it had a mind of its own. He cleared his throat and glanced away, looking to Cas for some kind of assistance. However, what help could the angel offer?

"What happened with the wedding?" Sam asked both Charlie and Dean.

When Charlie looked away, Sam figured out the answer. He sighed, leaning his head against the backboard and shutting his eyes. So, the bride died. If he had been there, he could have stopped it somehow. He could have saved her…

"It's over, though," Charlie said softly. "It wasn't even something for us—just the new husband killing off relatives to fulfill some kind of long family feud that only he knew about."

"That's sick…"

"Yeah and unimportant right now," Dean said sternly. "That case's behind us, now we got a new one: tryin' to figure out what happened to you."

Sam looked out in front of him, seeing that three people were waiting for him to speak. As if he had any answers. "Look, it might not even be anything," Sam spoke. "I was standing there and suddenly it was like heatstroke. I was paranoid about a witch so I thought there was a hexbag with my name on it. I got in the car and left, but called Cas before I passed out."

"And that's it? Nobody suspicious at all?"

"No, nothing…And now that it's not a special case, I'm thinking I was just paranoid."

Sam held his breath, hoping that at least Dean would believe it. He didn't want anyone worrying over him, but when Dean worried, he became overbearing. Granted, whenever one of them was hurt or sick, it generally was serious

"Well…that's good, then," Charlie said in her optimistic way. "The case is solved and we're all okay. I for one, am starving, though. Didn't eat much at the reception. Sam, you want anything?"

"You know how to cook?"

"I'll wing it," she shrugged. "What do you want?"

Sam glanced down at the bag of frozen peas. "Here's some half-thawed vegetables for something." He gripped it lightly, lowering his hand and then lifting it to toss it to his friend in the doorway seven feet away. The bag didn't even make it two before it fell onto the ground. As soon as that happened, Sam realized his tactical error. Nobody was going to believe he was alright now…

"Sorry," he improvised. "Bag slipped out of my grasp."

Charlie simply smiled, walking forward and grabbing the bag off the floor. She looked at his brown eyes for a few moments before she raised her hand and brushed down some of his hair. "I'll bring something back for you. Get some rest, alright? Heatstroke's no fun…"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Thanks."

As the redhead walked out of the room, Sam understood what she was trying to do. She didn't believe it was heatstroke, but she was trying to believe it for Dean's sake. After all, Dean had enough on his plate with the Mark of Cain burdening him.

Though Cas said a while ago that he wanted to be the Winchester's third wheel, he seemed aware of the tension in the room. "I'll…assist," he said after a few moments. He rose and walked out towards the kitchen, leaving Sam in his worst-case scenario with Dean staring at him critically.

"Dean…" Sam started.

"You stay there," he ordered. "I'll be right back."

Sam blinked in confusion when Dean stepped out, but he was okay with it. When Dean was out of sight, Sam leaned his head back again and let out a sigh. Now he could really self-evaluate. He was hot, sweaty, trembling slightly and just…uneasy. When he lifted his hand to brush over his hair again, he noticed just how white his skin was. If he had to guess, that was his whole countenance.

When Dean returned, he had a glass of ice-water in his hand and a thermometer in the other. "Oh, come on, Dean…" Sam sighed at the thermometer. The water was fine, but he wasn't a child; he didn't need his temperature taken.

"Open up, Sammy," Dean ordered as he stopped by the front of the bed.

Seeing he wouldn't get anywhere protesting, Sam grasped the thermometer and stuck it in his mouth. In the minute of waiting, Dean gave him a once over about six times. Sam was going to tell him that he was fine, but the thermometer made it too hard to speak intelligibly. When it finally beeped, Sam took it out and looked at it first. He wasn't happy about it. For a brief moment, he considered lying to Dean. He thought about saying, "Hey, it's not that bad…"

But naturally, Dean stole the thermometer out of his hand.

"That's not good," he said lowly. "You're still at 102.7."

"Well I feel a lot better," Sam said. "So don't worry about it too much."

"Yeah," Dean said in a tone that obviously conveyed that he was going to worry no matter what Sam said. "You get some rest. Food'll be back before you know it."

"Yeah." Sam leaned back further into the pillows, shutting his eyes again. He heard Dean linger and then leave the room, but that was it. Within moments, Sam was fast asleep once more.